


what wise men fear

by itsmylifekay, velociraptorerin



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Feral Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Hurt Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Hurt Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, POV Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, POV Nile Freeman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:35:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28527078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/velociraptorerin/pseuds/velociraptorerin
Summary: Nile watches as Nicky reemerges, arm raised and already firing, before her gaze is pulled away, Andy shouting about incoming and taking shots of her own to keep the door secure. Between the two of them it doesn’t take long and as soon as the hall is clear, Nile turns back to watch Nicky’s march, mystified by his transformation.Joe gets hurt and Nicky snaps, told from Nile, Nicky, and Joe's POV.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 14
Kudos: 331
Collections: The Old Guard Mini Bang 2020





	what wise men fear

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [velociraptorerin-art](https://velociraptorerin-art.tumblr.com/) for the awesome artwork! And to [obnoxiouslychaotic](https:/obnoxiouslychaotic.tumblr.com/) for the beta. And to theoldguardevents for putting everything together.

_There are three things all wise_ _men_ _fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the_ _anger_ _of a gentle_ _man._

\- Patrick Rothfuss

\---

Nile knows immortality comes with a price, learned that pretty intimately in just the first few days, experienced two centuries worth of grief and loneliness, five hundred years of guilt and pain, five hundred years of insanity. She saw a church filled with bodies, can only imagine how many countless more are lost to history that Nile will never know. Immortality means skills honed over centuries, and when it comes to fighting that yields a gruesome, bloody reward.

It’s not like she was so innocent herself either, before all this mess. She was a Marine. She had seen death, had dealt a bit of her own just before the end. But she’s still trying to wrap her head around this new life, can’t seem to reconcile the person she sees in the mirror with the bloody future she’s glimpsed.

At least it’s not all bad.

When the weapons are away and the job is done, she gets to watch as her new family relaxes, settles into old routines that Nile soaks in with fascination. Andy’s quiet knowledge, the leadership that she carries turned into something softer, even playful at times. Joe’s humor. Nicky’s kindness. Their _love_ —romantic, platonic, and overarching for all mankind that needs a helping hand. Sometimes it takes her breath away, just how muchthey’re willing to give.

“Are you sure about this guys?”

Andy glances at her in the rearview mirror. “Cold feet?”

“No,” Nile says, resolute, because she’s _in it_. No matter what. “All I’m saying is this seems like a pretty big job for four people.”

“We have done bigger, in the past,” Joe says, turning to look at her through the gap in the seats. “You were there for Merrick, that was hardly a small operation.”

“With Merrick we had an inside man, a fifth fighter, and the element of surprise,” she says. “What have we got going for us this time?”

“Still surprise, just a little less of it,” Joe grins, looks purposefully over her shoulder towards the trunk. “And many, many more weapons. This time, we are prepared.”

“You’re sure all the intel is good?” she asks, even though she knows just as well as they do who sent it, how likely it is to be true.

Andy gives her another pointed look before returning to staring at the road.

“Sometimes all we can do is trust, Nile,” Nicky says, voice soft in that special way of his. He’s been staring out the window most of the ride, face partially obscured by the dark hood he favors for these types of missions, but now he turns to face her and give her a gentle smile. “Trust in your abilities, and in ours. Even if the intel is wrong, we will find a way to fix it.”

Joe nods along. “We will find a way. And we will not give up.”

That much at least, Nile believes. Through all the shit they’ve endured the last few months, it’s become increasingly apparent that immortality comes with an increased chance of being a stubborn asshole at the worst of times and an immovable rock at the best. Andy’s even begun searching for Quyhn again, enlisting Copley to look into sonar, current patterns, submarine logs, anything and everything that could have some hint as to where she is. They’re not good at giving up. None of them are.

And that apparently includes this, driving towards a sprawling drug compound somewhere in the jungles of South America, armed to the teeth but still just four mostly immortal fighters against an entire base of criminal operations. She has a feeling this isn’t going to end well. And that all of her clothes are going to be thoroughly ruined by the end of it.

Their other missions post-Merrick have been intense but small scale— the occasional springing of prisoners, escorting of refugees, and even one particularly memorable faked assassination. But this is shaping up to be something ten times messier.

They park the car a good ways away, hide it in some foliage and strap themselves with as many weapons as they can carry. Then, the hike begins, trekking their way deeper into the jungle where the base is hidden. The air is dense and humid, life vibrant all around them, but Nile can only feel the slight give of mud beneath her boots, is calculating how difficult it would be to escape through terrain like this if things turn south.

They dodge camera traps and real-life booby traps, some disabled by Copley remotely and others the old fashioned way, but eventually they’re within view of the base, no alarms and no raised voices to give indication that their rouse is up.

Nicky gives them a silent nod and disappears into the trees.

He’ll follow the tree line towards the closest corner of the base, where the wire fence is dipping slightly under overgrowth and guards have a limited view of the canopy. The leaves are so dense that she loses sight of him after just a few meters, having to trust in the careful construction of their plan and the tiny receivers in their ears as they infiltrate the base from below.

A few minutes later, she hears the faint rattle of a shell casing, a careful inhale, and then a second near-indiscernible rattle. Andy waves them forward to the fence.

They breach it easily, moving quickly across the open area between it and the actual first wall of the base, listening carefully over her own beating heart and measured breaths as Nicky fires again. And again. A third time as Andy waves them on.

The wall isn’t hard to scale, not with the honest to god grappling hook and rope ladder Andy heaves up at the walkway. It catches on the first try and Andy looks over her shoulder to give Nile a smirk as she climbs.

“Not our first rodeo, kid.”

Nile shakes her head, but doesn’t argue as she follows close behind, watching Andy’s back as Joe climbs up then hauls in the ladder. There’s a dead body just a few feet away and another visible near the corner, the puddles of blood around them still spreading, glossy and almost black in the fading sunlight.

There’s a sharp breath in their earpiece and they all hit the ground, staying out of sight as Nicky lines up his shot. The sun is setting just behind him, making it near impossible for any of the guards to see him against the glare, to detect the slight glint of the muzzle in the trees.

She’d wondered about his own sight and aim in these conditions, but apparently that was as needless as Joe had reassured her— _he’s just that good_.

Another rattle. Another puddle spreading out across the roof.

They crouch and head for the nearest entry point, don’t stop even as Nicky fires off another two shots in rapid succession, followed by a third that is quickly replaced by the sound of Nicky disassembling his rifle.

Andy kicks open the door.

They rush through with guns raised and ready, the sound of their breaths the only connection Nicky has to them now that they’re out of sight.

She knows he hates these moments. As much as he trusts them and their talents, he is always most relaxed when he has them in his sights, when he _knows_ they’re safe from harm. Nile is constantly warmed to find herself included in that concern, to have been so easily labeled family. The loss of her own family still aches, sometimes, but she’s so grateful to have this. And she’s already determined to protect it.

They make it about a minute before their cover is blown, too many cameras and too much space between entry point and control room. Radios crackle as the alarm goes up and they move quickly through the halls, taking down anyone they come across and trying to cover as much ground as possible before a more full-scale retaliation can be organized.

Nile isn’t thrilled at the prospect, but honestly she hadn’t thought they’d make it this far, had expected to be caught out before they’d even made it in the building. Joe huffs as he reloads. Nicky makes an unhappy sound in their ears.

Andy is unconcerned, just headshots the next man to run around the corner and leaves Joe to step over the body, all of them pausing at the sound of running feet.

Looks like their time is up.

Nile readjusts her grip.

Andy takes a breath and nods, lets her be the first to round the corner. Bullets echo in the enclosed space, ricochet off of walls, and out windows. Glass shatters and Nile rolls her eyes. _Amateurs._

She registers some dull pain as she’s hit in the chest and thigh, shakes it off and squeezes out shots of her own as she advances, hears Andy and Joe close in behind her.

They stand over the bodies after, listen to the harsh commands coming through the static to gauge just how much they know— three intruders, a demand for someone to check the roof.

She sees Joe’s shoulders relax out of the corner of her eye. They don’t know about Nicky yet.

Nicky, who is supposed to be entering the facility from the back, slipping in while most of the men are distracted, maneuvering to reconnect with them to destroy the drug shipment, kill whoever’s in charge, and free those trapped working in the facility. That’s the plan.

Or at least it is right up until Nicky lets out a hiss in their earpiece that has them grinding to a halt. She can hear him preparing his gun as he talks.

“There are men, in trucks. Heavily armed. There is shouting at the gates.” Muffled and far away, she can hear gunshots, then a slightly louder explosion. “It seems we are not the only guests.”

“No kidding,” Andy says, looking up at the ceiling for a brief moment before violently reloading her gun. “ _Fuck_.”

Joe echoes the sentiment.

Nile looks between them. “Okay,” she says. “So what do we do now?”

“Separate early,” Nicky says. It sounds like he’s already running. “I will hold them outside.”

Joe shakes his head, face pinched, but he doesn’t argue. They all know this is the best option now.

“Nile you’re with me,” Andy says. “Joe, the storeroom.”

And just like that they’re apart, splintered further as they go deeper and deeper into the winding halls of the facility.

They don’t encounter much resistance along the way, most personnel now rerouted to whatever’s going on out front, and before long they’re stepping over the body of another guard and into an underground processing room. The people inside are thin and hunched, eyes dull, flinching away as soon as Andy and Nile come close.

“We need to get them out of here,” Andy says. She turns to Nile. “I’ll plant the charges, you try and convince them to leave.”

Nile raises an eyebrow.

“You really think I have the better bedside manner here?”

“Yeah, true.” Nile surveys the room. “Better get started then.”

By the time she has the fifty or so traumatized workers gathered around her and a few more guards dead on the ground, Andy has finished setting the place to blow. There’s a tap on her earpiece, then Andy’s smooth voice coming from across the room and directly in her ear.

“We’re ready here. Boys?”

There’s been near constant gunfire rattling through the connection for the last ten minutes, both loud and pointed and punctuated by shouts from Joe, as well as the quieter and further away sounds from Nicky, who is apparently still posted up somewhere on the upper wall.

“Clear,” Nicky says.

Joe curses, loudly and laced with venom, followed by rapid Arabic that Nile can’t hope to understand.

Andy frowns. “Joe’s clear. Let’s go.”

They move through the halls quickly, picking up guns from fallen guards as they pass and pushing them into the hands of the released workers. Andy and Nile will have to leave them, at least for a while. They point them towards a section of building far away from the fighting and impending explosion, then they separate, moving faster as Joe lets out another curse, followed by a close range shot and a pained howl.

There are more gunshots, final and deafening, before their earpieces fill with the background static of a firefight further away, Joe’s connection gone silent.

Andy breaks into a run and Nile hears the rapid firing of Nicky’s handgun under the sounds of their footsteps.

It takes longer than they’d like to make it to the storeroom, the facility now overrun with the invading criminal organization as well as the one they’d initially come to destroy, but they get there eventually.

Andy is sweaty and covered with blood spatter by the time they make it to the heavy metal doors, rolled back just enough to let a few men through at a time. There are bodies piled up at the sides, no doubt those who’d tried to make the opening big enough for a vehicle before being shot down.

Nile risks a glance inside and frowns. “There’s an entrance open around back.”

The implication that Joe must be surrounded goes unsaid, even if they all hear it. The entire room is crawling with men armed with guns and—Nile risks another look. “Machetes?” she asks. “Really?”

Andy’s lips are a thin line. “Never said this was going to be pleasant, kid.”

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire swells behind her, the room erupting in a fresh storm of bullets. She turns to look then just stares, transfixed, as Nicky emerges from the opposite door, rifle slung over his back and pistol in hand, unloading bullets with a precision that drops a dozen bodies to the ground.

Eventually, he has to duck behind a palette to reload and Nile lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Because _holy shit._

More than the accuracy, or the carnage, or the chaos now palpable in the air, Nile is struck by the look on his face—the pure, unadulterated _rage_ there.

Her heartbeat picks up in her chest.

There’s still no sign of Joe.

She watches as Nicky reemerges, arm raised and already firing, before her gaze is pulled away, Andy shouting about incoming and taking shots of her own to keep the door secure. Between the two of them it doesn’t take long and as soon as the hall is clear, Nile turns back to watch Nicky’s march, mystified by his transformation.

He is the very picture of fury— burning, focused, consuming everything in his path as he advances. She can hardly believe that this is the soft, gentle man who first welcomed her into their group, who urged her to rest and process on her own time. The same man who always asks how she’s feeling, who tries to help her navigate this life with calm instructions when she’s so frustrated she could cry, who always wants to help others, who goes out of his way to show kindness at every turn.

She thinks back to that man and cannot reconcile him with this berserker in front of her, bloodied and lost to battle, impervious to pain, like something out of myth.

Nicky is soft and gentle and kind.

But this man, this man is _terrifying._

As men close in, one gets close enough to lodge a knife in Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky doesn’t blink, just shoots the man in the gut and leaves him writhing on the ground. He keeps walking, pulls out the knife and drops it carelessly to the ground as he goes, barely slowed.

Nile wants to go to him. She isn’t sure where this is headed, but knows that it can’t be good.

There’s still no sign of Joe. His earpiece is probably broken. He himself is most likely dead. Everything points to a disaster. She can just feel it in her chest, in the hairs that raise along her arm and the tightness of her chest.

But Andy shouts at her to hold the door, draws her attention to the small group heading towards them. She turns away, puts herself between Andy and their bullets and digs in for another fight.

Andy may actually wear armor now, but she’s not about to take any chances. Not with her family. Not when one of them would actually stay dead.

By the time she’s able to look back over her shoulder, Nicky is gone, somewhere further back in the room hidden by palettes and half-loaded trucks. The sound of gunfire has slowed, but not stopped, the remaining men apparently playing it safe.

Her mind is buzzing. She still can’t process what she’s seen.

Had that really been Nicky?

She’s seen him fight, even kill, but never like that.

Something uneasy settles along her spine and refuses to leave. Where is Joe? Where is _Nicky_?

Finally, she can’t wait anymore.

“I’m going in,” she says, takes the lull in activity for the opportunity it is and goes running into the room, only vaguely aware of the way Andy curses and follows close behind.

She finds cover behind a truck and peers over the hood towards the back corner of the room, able to see much more than she had from the door. Her gun lowers slowly as she takes in the scene in front of her.

She covers her mouth. Her fingers tremble.

Joe is on the ground, sprawled out and unmoving as Nicky tugs at his shirt, rips the fabric away from his shoulder to expose the torn flesh and broken bone beneath. The rest of his arm lies at Nicky’s feet, fabric already pulled away to show flesh.

Just as Nicky reaches for it, a man stumbles out from behind a palette, levels a gun at Nicky’s back and fires before Nile can call out to warn him. He gets off three solid shots that bury themselves along Nicky’s spine before Nicky moves, whipping around so fast Nile can hardly catch it, sword drawn and piercing through the man’s stomach before he stands to rip the sword back out through the side, leaving blood and viscera to pour out onto the ground.

Nile has no idea how he’s still standing. There’s blood on his neck, his shoulder, his back and chest and thighs. She sees stains on his chin as he turns to kneel back down by Joe’s side. He shouldn’t be moving.

She wonders if he died while she wasn’t looking, or if he’s just fighting off the inevitable.

Those thoughts are silenced as Joe gasps to life, suddenly and violently, digging his heels into the ground and arching in pain. Nicky strokes his chest to soothe him, avoiding the bullet holes in his face that have yet to heal. He holds Joe down with one hand, grabs his severed arm with the other and holds it up to reattach.

It doesn’t take long before the flesh begins to move, Nile can see it even from behind the truck, and even if she _couldn’t_ see the sound Joe makes is unmistakable, unforgettable, and she starts forward as Nicky begins to slump.

Andy grabs her arm, shakes her head.

“Watch the doors,” she says.

_Leave them be._

Nile stares at Andy’s face, then casts another anxious glance to where Nicky is curled over Joe’s body, dead and unmoving even as Joe slowly fights his way back to life.

His left hand, the one that hadn’t been detached just moments ago, twitches and lifts. His fingers bunch in Nicky’s shirt. A few beats later and Nicky’s shoulders roll, entire body tensed in pain as he hauls himself upright, watching with intent focus as Joe’s body knits itself back together.

Even half dead, they revolve around each other. It’d be beautiful if it weren’t for the layer of sweat and blood between them, the way Joe’s arm is still half hanging off his side.

Eventually, Nicky reaches out to touch, hands gentle but eyes dead, jaw clenched tight. He talks to Joe in a low voice, helps him sit up and pushes their foreheads together as soon as they’re close enough.

Nile swallows and looks away, knows the moment isn’t for her, isn’t for anyone but them.

It’s too raw to be anything else.

Instead, she and Andy do a sweep of the room, set charges along the rows of palettes and pick off the few stragglers who try to sneak in now that things have gone quiet.

When Andy finds her again, she nods and takes a breath, says in a voice just loud enough to carry across the room, “Nile and I are doing a final check. Meet at the fence line in fifteen.”

A pistol hits the ground twice in relatively quick succession, the sound sharp and echoing in the large and now eerily silent space.

She glances over her shoulder as they leave, can just make out their tangled silhouettes in the distance before they’re obscured from view, Nicky’s sword on the ground beside them, surrounded by the broken and bleeding bodies he’d left in his wake.

She and Andy go to the freed workers; offer food, directions, weapons, and safe passage for those who need it. Some have already left, some take their offers for guns, none choose to stay.

Maybe they have heard the gunfire and are wary to be taken again. Maybe they see the blood stains on Nile’s face and are wary for a different reason entirely. Either way, they all disappear into the forest, making their way back to their homes without looking back.

Andy readjusts the pack on her shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

Nile follows, is relieved to see Nicky and Joe waiting for them at the fence, had worried they wouldn’t be willing to move or separate long enough to make the trek back to the car. As it is, Joe is still obviously not moving his right arm, waves to them with his left and offers them a tired smile in stark contrast to Nicky’s blank face beside him, a careful few inches away from Joe’s right side and staring wordlessly out into the trees.

Andy holds up a remote with a small, blinking light. “Ready?”

“More than you can believe,” Joe says.

Nile just crosses her arms, still watching Nicky warily from the corner of her eye. He’s wiped the blood from his chin, or at least tried to, but he still looks like death warmed over. Somehow, he looks even worse than Joe.

Andy presses the button and the building rumbles, smoke curling up out of the roof and fire burning brightly between the storeroom doors. They turn and walk away.

 _Somehow,_ Nile thinks, _it always looks much cooler in movies._

Then again movies don’t usually show the aftermath, the clothes coated in blood and debris, the weariness and the pain, the adrenaline crash as they finally pile into the car to head home. By silent agreement, Nile takes the passenger seat, leaving Joe to join Nicky in the back.

Nicky is staring out at the passing scenery with his hand wrapped firmly around Joe’s wrist.

Joe reaches over with his other arm, the right one, now apparently functional again, and guides Nicky’s hood gently over his head, murmurs something in Italian that Nicky doesn’t respond to. Joe sighs and pushes some of the damp hair from his face before settling back in his seat.

Nile does her best not to stare.

She thinks back to that first, unofficial mission. Merrick. _Keane_. The resounding crunch of his spine as Joe killed him—brutally, physically, _personally._ Nile learned very quickly that to touch Nicky was to incur the wrath of Joe. It was jarring at the time, a small but emphatic mental note to never get on Joe’s bad side that was only nurtured by Booker’s banishment and the hurt and anger in Joe’s eyes as he looked at Nicky and spoke of punishment and betrayal.

But now she knows she was wrong, that it is not _Joe’s_ anger she should fear. Because Booker was given one hundred years, not a thousand. Because she has seen Nicky grab Joe gently by the arm countless times, seen him kiss his neck, tell him he’s fine and to _stay,_ to let it go and Joe does, just like that. Because Joe may be passionate and protective, but that all revolves around his love for Nicky. If Nicky asks him to stop, he will.

Nicky wouldn’t have stopped.

Nile is sure of that down to her very core. 

That was an anger so intense and brutal that even Joe could have only hoped to slow it, to eventually break through and pull him back down to earth only once countless bodies had already hit the floor.

She glances back at them, at how Joe has pressed himself to Nicky’s side and is half-asleep on his shoulder, Nicky’s fingers running carefully through his hair. They look soft again, especially now that the darkness hides the bloodstains on their clothes. She could almost imagine it was just another night coming home from dinner, Joe full from too much dessert and sleeping it off by Nicky’s side.

Andy shifts beside her, fingers flexing on the wheel. A silent warning not to push.

Nile still can’t bring herself to look away, doesn’t want to blink for fear it’ll all be a dream. Or maybe the Nicky in the storeroom is what she imagined. That seems more likely. After all, she’s known sweet, gentle Nicky for months.

Nicky looks up and meets her eyes, gives her a small half-smile so reminiscent of all their missions before. _Well done_ , it says, _we’ve made it. You can rest._

But it feels slightly hollow now, dull like the look in his eyes that he still hasn’t managed to chase away, the darkness clinging to him in the sticky crust of blood across his hands. Her eyes flick to them for just a moment, but she doesn’t feel fear. Not anymore. She knows Nicky would never hurt her.

She reaches out and puts a hand on his knee, holds on until he sighs and leans further into Joe, face nearly completely hidden in dark curls and the shadow of his hood.

Then, slowly, she puts her hand over Joe’s, just above Nicky’s fingers still wrapped around his wrist, squeezes and meets the older man’s tired, knowing eyes.

 _They’ll be okay._ Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but they’ll be okay.

He knows what Nicky needs. She trusts in that, trusts in them.

Nicky watches her carefully as she turns back around and settles in her seat.

The road is dark and endless in front of them, illuminated by the single faint patch of their headlights. The car jolts over ruts and potholes. Nile closes her eyes.

_There are three things all wise men fear…_

The facility disappears behind them, growing distant as the jungle passes by outside the windows. All of that kindness and love cracked open into something terrible.

 _There are three things all wise men fear_ : _the sea in storm_ , _a night with no moon…_

_And the anger of a gentle man._

Nile agrees. And she’s in no hurry to see it again.

\---

At the very beginning, Nicky may have seen this life as a curse. His memories of that time are cloudy, faded with time, impressions carved into the foundation of his being now covered with various streams and sediment, hills and rolling plains. He has grown for nearly a millennia and it is hard to return to memories that have been so deeply buried. So it is a mystery how _exactly_ he felt those initial days after his first resurrection.

He remembers confusion that shook the very core of his being. He remembers chaos, death, and a burning righteousness that nearly choked him, scorching him from the inside out until all that was left was embers and ash. And from that destruction something beautiful had risen…

_Yusuf._

Joe. His life, his heart, his love.

No matter the darkness and bloodshed of his past, Joe has always been the light that pierces through, that connects who he is to who he was and who he will come to be. He is the shining needle that slips through the very core of his being, leaving a shining sliver of light that no amount of pain or suffering or time has been able to smother.

Joe says Nicky overflows with kindness, that he is gentle and tenderhearted.

Nicky knows this is untrue.

He knows of the monster that lies deep within his heart, that roared to life with righteous fury during the crusades and threatens to swallow him whole in some of his darkest moments. It is only by Joe’s tether that he keeps his humanity, his trust in the goodness around them.

Because of Joe, he can bask in the light.

Without him, he would be lost in darkness— trapped in an endless, moonless night.

_“Sometimes all we can do is trust, Nile._

_Trust in your abilities, and in ours.”_

These words echo in his head as everything begins to fall apart around him, chaos erupting as truck after truck of heavily armed invaders breach the compound they’ve come to destroy. They have to separate and the mere suggestion leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He doesn’t like to leave any of his family exposed (of course he doesn’t) but Joe worries him most of all. They never like for the other to wake up alone.

But now, separated and outnumbered, it was likely one or both of them were going to die, come gasping back with nothing but the grip of a sword or gun to ground them. His hands tightened on his rifle, staring down the barrel and trying to take even breaths.

Find a target. Inhale. Exhale. Pressure on the trigger.

Another body on the ground.

The sooner he can get the situation outside under control, the sooner he can join Joe and the others and try to clean up the mess the situation has become. So much greed, so much pointless death. It seemed the centuries were always full of it, in ever more creative ways, always for the basest reasons.

“We’re ready here. Boys?”

Andy’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he takes another breath. One step closer. They are one step closer to cleaning another evil from the world. He is one step closer to having Joe in his sights.

“Clear,” he says.

Joe curses, full of fury, then hisses over the line in Arabic so fast and ancient even Nicky has to fight to understand. _There are too many. I cannot hold the room much longer. They are close to opening the main doors._

There is gunfire, loud and persistent, but Nicky’s ears have long been attuned to Joe. He could pick out his breath in a crowded room, his heartbeat at the very bottom of the sea. So he hears it now, the undercurrent of resignation, the buildup before the eventual fall. Joe knows he is going to die. He is trying very hard not to show it.

Andy’s brisk, _“Joe’s clear. Let’s go._ ” barely reaches his ears.

His hands threaten to tremble on his rifle. He should be with Joe. Another shot, another body. He will get the numbers down, make it as safe as possible, and then he will go. Has to go.

He should be with Joe.

Joe lets out another curse and Nicky is moving before he even fully registers what he’s heard. Shock. Anger. Pain.

The sharp echo of a close range shot and a howl that will no doubt haunt Nicky’s dreams for years to come.

The next gunshots only serve to make his ears ring louder, burrowing somewhere deep in his chest as if he’s the one hit, cracked open, something dark and horrible spilling out.

Joe’s connection has gone silent, his earpiece ruined. That first shot was enough to kill him, the rest were for assurance, for pride. For the spiritual violence of stripping a man of his identity after you’ve already stripped him of his life.

Rifle across his back, Nicky descends the wall and heads for the storeroom, ears still ringing, heart beating louder with each step. His feet hit the ground.

He should be with Joe.

He shoots one man in the head, another in the chest and neck. Both fall, Nicky stepping easily over their corpses without looking back.

He should be with Joe.

More men, more gunshots, he loses count of how many, supposes he will find out when they are back at the safe house, when he sees how many clips are missing from his belt. A part of him flinches at the revelation, knows even now that this will haunt him, but Joe’s pained, desperate howl will haunt him far longer.

He should have been there.

“There’s an entrance open around back.”

No sooner does he hear Nile’s words than he sees it—a large steel door, not big enough for vehicles but large enough to fit two men side by side. Large enough to let in too many, too quickly. Outnumbered. Overwhelmed.

Back pressed to the wall, he reloads his gun.

“Machetes?” Nile’s voice comes again. “Really?”

Sometimes, her youthful humor and innocence is enough to make Joe laugh with delight, enough to make Nicky’s mouth twitch up in a smile. She is a welcome addition, a breath of fresh air for their group that had admittedly, apparently, gone a bit stale.

Now though, he barely hears it. There could be a thousand knives pointed at his throat and he wouldn’t stop.

Not when Joe was on the other side. Not when those that hurt him stand in his way.

He would raze heaven itself to the ground.

Andy begins to speak as he steps forward, her words lost under the swell of adrenaline and gunfire and _rage_. He takes out as many as he can from the relative safety of the door frame before stepping into the room, eyes taking in every target, utterly unfeeling as he drops each one to the ground with an accuracy that comes from too many years of practice.

He’s up to his chin in a sea of red. _Red._ All around him. Nearly choking, head tipped up to gasp what little air he can. Hands pull at his ankles beneath the surface, angry.

His back meets the rough plastic of a palette, kilos of drugs and the whole reason for this mess and if he had the time he would scream and tear it all to the ground. He settles for reloading.

It is a blur of blood and pain, bullets bury into his body—one at his thigh, another at his chest. But for each bullet that finds him, he drops six men to the ground. The pain is nothing compared to the need to _know._ To find Joe. To see him.

He should be with Joe.

That is one of the only truths in his entire, immortal life and it is what screams in his veins now, has him continuing forward like something possessed. Like one of the beasts he was first sent out into the great, wide world to destroy.

He kills another enemy and a sharp pain shoots up his shoulder, a blade buried deep just beside the bone. Retribution instant and divine, he turns, follows the knife in his shoulder up to the man who put it there and shoots him in the gut, leaves him to bleed out slow and painful on the ground. The knife drops to join him moments later.

His hands tremble.

Because there, over the man’s shoulder, towards the back of the room. A puddle of blood, a broken body.

_Joe._

Bile pushes at the back of his throat.

He unloads the final bullet in the clip and doesn’t bother to reload, pulls his sword and heaves it at the next man who dares to stand in his way. It cleaves deep into his neck and shoulder, crunching through bone before he pulls it free. A bullet hits his chest, punctures a lung. But he doesn’t stop.

Pain splinters outwards with every breath. Blood speckles his chin and drips down his chest in warm rivulets. But he doesn’t stop.

He lunges, coughs, sword buried deep in the chest of another nameless soldier.

There are guns, and blades, and Nicky hardly feels them as he makes his path, refusing to stop, refusing to slow until his knees are hitting the ground at Joe’s side.

The blood is darkest at his shoulder, pooling around the severed stump of his arm that lies a bit farther away. There is a bloody hole in his chest, close to his heart, that Nicolo traces gently with one hand. It had been just enough to stun, to leave him open in those few, dizzying moments before he hit the floor.

He can’t bring himself to look at his face, knows there is hardly anything for him there until the healing quickens.

He reaches frantically for Joe’s arm, pulls back the fabric then reaches for Joe, begins to tug at his shirt as well. The arm will be the hardest, if it must regenerate, letting it reconnect will help. It _must._

Joe will come back to him.

He will be here, waiting, when he does.

His fingers skim the still warm flesh of Joe’s right arm, reaching for where it lies at his feet, when pain spikes sharp and sudden up his spine. The air leaves his lungs and his already aching body screams in protest, trying to fling itself into the darkness even as Nicky clings resolutely to the last fraying threads that keep him tethered.

He moves, mainly on instinct, sword piercing the man’s stomach before ripping it out again. The world swims. Red. Red up to his mouth, against his tongue, pressing against his lips.

He’s choking on it.

His fingers shake as he collapses back by Joe’s side. His vision blurs, but he hears it when Joe gasps back into life. Nicky almost wishes he had waited a little longer to return, if only to spare him the pain as his body heals. His hands are clumsy against his chest, trying to calm him with warm palms and shaking fingers, his throat clogged with blood.

He grabs Joe’s arm, holds it up to the shoulder and holds Joe against the ground, pins him with his weight while muscle and bone reach for each other and writhe beneath his hand. Joe shouts, _wails,_ nearly bucks Nicky off with the force of his confusion, his shock and pain.

But he is alive. He will be whole again.

Nicky lets the world drop out from beneath his feet.

\--

It rushes up to meet him.

_Yusuf._

Pain and guilt come screaming back like long lost friends, eager to bury themselves against his chest. He opens his arms to their embrace.

Joe’s hands are warm against his back, even through the gear, gripping cloth and tugging, anchoring, using Nicky to drag himself back into the world.

One hand is pressing at a wound, but it is a dull ache among many. Nicky will not move him. Instead he watches, holds himself up as well as he’s able and watches as Joe’s body knits itself back together.

Like all big wounds, Joe’s arm is slow to heal, as is his face, but the holes in his chest have already closed, two bullets burrowing their way out to roll and strike against the ground.

He’s not sure how much time passes, feels he is frozen, lost in a fevered kind of prayer. His Joe. His heart. His _light._

The shutter had been pulled, if only for a moment, but it had been enough to plunge him back into a frightening darkness. He can still taste copper in the back of his throat.

It is not the only thing that chokes him.

Finally, Joe’s eyes flutter open and focus, mercifully unharmed despite the hole in his forehead, the shattered cheekbone, the sluggish way the lower half of his jaw is knitting itself back together.

Nicky’s hands are gentle when he finally reaches out to touch.

 _“My love,”_ he says, in Italian so old no one else knows it but them. “ _My love, I am here. I am with you._ ”

He continues to murmur, promises and assurances and pleas until Joe is strong enough to sit up, to allow Nicky to press their foreheads together and drink him in, settle his still frantic heart with the knowledge that his soul has not been stolen. His humanity still walks the earth.

He is only half aware as the world continues around them. Aware enough to give some kind of response to Andy, when she calls, but not aware enough to know she had been so near. He refuses to look at the bodies laid out around them.

Instead, he focuses on Joe.

The curls beneath his fingers and the gentleness of his eyes and the familiarity of his heartbeat that pulls Nicky back to the surface. He’s still not sure where exactly he goes, in moments like these. Somewhere far away. Somewhere even Joe has trouble reaching.

So Nicky reaches out instead, pulls Joe close as they cling together, speaking in Italian, Arabic, a clutter of words that Nicky is only half aware of speaking.

“I was so scared, Yusuf.”

“I am here now, my Nicolo. Peace.” Strong hands grasp his sides. “Breathe, my love. Look at me.”

“I should have been with you. But I was here, I was here when you woke.” He touches Joe’s face, his chest, the pink skin of his healing shoulder. “You are okay, my heart. I am with you. I will not let them touch you again.”

Joe buries his face in Nicky’s neck, breath hot against the skin there, drinking him in.

“I know,” he says. “I know, Nicolo. My love. My heart. We are okay.”

Again, time blurs. Passes.

Somehow, they are both standing.

Andy has told them to meet by the fence so they go, leaning on each other, stumbling through the first few steps before they find a rhythm. Joe is still favoring his injured arm and Nicky watches him wince and hold it close with shrewd eyes, drifts closer, covers this weak spot and dares anyone to try and take his heart away again.

He is still just skimming the surface, treading at the water’s edge.

The darkness yawns open beneath him.

Joe’s touch is gentle against his side.

“Nicolo, “ he says, eyes soft and knowing. “I am fine. I will heal.”

Nicky stares.

Joe sighs.

Soon, they are in the car, the compound a burning husk behind them and Joe warm and solid at his side. The jungle is a blur outside the window, a wash of brown and green that Nicky looks at without focus, his mind devoted to the feel of Joe’s skin beneath his palm, the gentle beat of his pulse against his fingers. He tightens them reflexively, feels tendon and muscle shift slightly in his grip, the answering flex of Joe’s arm.

_I’m here. We’re okay._

His eyes don’t leave the window.

In the next breath, he feels Joe shift beside him. He only flinches slightly when he reaches over, gently pulls Nicky’s hood free and guides it over his head.

“There is no sin to forgive, my heart,” Joe says, voice low. He waits a beat and when Nicky doesn’t respond he sighs softly, lifts his hand to push some of the hair from Nicky’s forehead.

They both need each other, now. Nicky knows this. He knows it but can’t quite break free from the sights and sounds playing over and over inside his own mind.

His hands dripping with the evidence of what he’d done.

Blood and gore and senseless violence.

Joe on the ground, broken.

But Joe is with him now, has pressed himself to Nicky’s side, head pillowed on his shoulder. Nicky’s arm slips around his back and it feels a bit like emerging from an icy sea, skin tingling as it comes back to life. His fingers bury themselves in Joe’s hair.

The compound gets further away and Joe becomes closer, more real.

Nicky becomes more human.

He feels eyes on him and glances up, meets Nile’s curious gaze and offers her a small smile. It feels painfully, treacherously normal, and he has a feeling it doesn’t reach his eyes, drops it quickly when his lips begin to twist into something wretched.

He is a _liar._

He is not gentle and kind. He does not deserve Nile looking to him for guidance. He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a monster in disguise.

She touches him anyway, refuses to back down until he relents, turns away to bury his face in Joe’s curls instead because he is a coward and can’t face the unflinching trust in this child’s eyes.

She touches Joe next.

He forces himself not to tense, but he can’t quite stop himself from watching, eyes tracking each movement until she is settled back in her seat, Joe soft and untouched beside him. He pushes closer. He cannot bear to be apart.

The scenery fades around them, the sky now dark and mostly obscured by the canopy overhead. Nile is asleep quickly, despite the shaking of the car.

Joe does not sleep until they hit paved road and the sky turns the milky black of modern times, stars swallowed up into obscurity. He is a solid weight against Nicky’s shoulder, his side, his breaths light and even as they graze Nicky’s chest.

Nicky looks up at the sky, at the pale sliver of moon that has risen overhead.

He will not sleep.

He has already fallen into the darkness, lost his moon and come up gasping, lost, hands dripping blood and soul shattered on the harsh planes of the earth, no light to guide his way.

He will not risk losing it again.

His grip tightens.

Nearly a millennium and this is what he is most afraid of— a life without Joe.

A night with no moon.

\------

“ _Yusuf._ ”

The name floats to him through a sea of pain. His arm is a hot brand of agony, his face throbs with each beat of his heart. But he is alive.

He is _alive._

And Nicky is above him, warm and solid beneath his hands.

There is not much more in this world he would ask for.

The pain will fade, as it always does. They will heal. They will continue. It has been this way for centuries. It is not always pleasant, but he would live no other life but this one with Nicky by his side.

When his eyes finally open, the first thing he sees is Nicky’s face. It is meant to be a relief, a coming home, instead it sends a fresh wave of agony through his chest.

 _Oh Nicolo,_ he thinks, taking in the blood, the desperation _. My Nicolo, I’m sorry._

Nicky’s hands are shaking when he finally reaches out to touch, fingers light against the healing skin of his cheek, the curls at his temple.

“My love _,”_ he says, in Italian so old Joe almost feels thrown back in time, laid out on a different battlefield while Nicky knelt above him with a crusader’s cross still emblazoned across his chest. “My love, I am here. I am with you.”

The mantra continues as he heals, eyes sad as he stares up at Nicky and the almost frantic way his mouth twists around the words. Nicky rarely speaks so much at once. When he does, Joe knows it is a sign of something deeper, running beneath the surface and trying to push its way out.

Now, it is fear. Guilt.

He wants to wipe it all away.

He starts to sit up and Nicky is quick to help him, supports him in his own bloody arms as their foreheads press together. From the corner of his eye, he can see the carnage around them, bodies scattered and bleeding, Nicky’s sword a deep, drying red against the ground.

Joe holds onto him tighter.

 _I will not let you go,_ he thinks. Out loud, he murmurs Nicky’s name, leans into the hand that grips near painfully in his hair.

“My heart,” he says, hoarse and painful still. “Nicolo, I am here.”

But Nicky is lost to him, clinging tight but eyes far away as he continues his muttering— promises to protect him, apologies for not coming fast enough. Joe shushes them all. Waits, as patiently as he can, for his heart to come back to him.

He holds him in the meantime, hands at Nicky’s back, trying to pull him even closer, as if he could tuck Nicky away inside his own chest and keep him safe there.

They will always be together. He will make it so, even if he has to fight fate itself.

He listens to the flow of Italian, Arabic, tries to respond and draw Nicky closer to the surface.

“I know, my love,” he says. “I am here. You are with me.”

Nicky’s breath stutters and his next words are the clearest, even as they’re whispered into the space beneath them.

“I was so scared, Yusuf.”

Joe’s heart breaks a little more. “I am here now, my Nicolo. Peace,” he urges. He tries to draw Nicky closer, can feel his breaths coming short and labored against his palms, sides heaving with each aborted breath. “Breathe, my love. Look at me.”

But Nicky’s eyes are still too far, looking at Joe’s face, his eyes, without really seeing.

“I should have been with you,” he says. “But I was here, I was here when you woke.” It sounds like confession, like penance, even as his hands reach out to touch Joe’s healing skin. “You are okay, my heart. I am with you. I will not let them touch you again.”

Joe wants to cry. Instead, he buries his face in Nicky’s neck and takes a moment to breathe, to try and put himself back together because now it is Nicky who is falling apart. He remembers the searing pain of a blade through his arm. Remembers the ground coming up to meet him. The state of his face alone would be enough for nightmares, but Nicky had to see it all, had to hold him in his hands and put him back together.

Now it is Joe’s turn. And he has been here before.

(Later, they will take the time to help each other heal. To smooth the pieces that have been broken.)

“I know,” he says, pulling back to meet Nicky’s eyes. “I know, Nicolo. My love. My heart. We are okay.”

He cups the side of Nicky’s face in one hand, wipes away some of the blood on his chin and wonders how many times Nicky had to die and come back alone in order to spare Joe the same fate. His fingers curl in Nicky’s hair, hold him in place. Nicky submits easily, staring at Joe with tired, half-lidded eyes, the tide finally receding from his feet.

Eventually, they stand. They lean on each other, carefully avoiding the blood and bodies as they make their way out of the storeroom, only parting when they make it out the doors but not going far. Joe wordlessly takes Nicky’s sword, wipes it off on one of the bodies left at the entrance before slipping it back into the sheath at Nicky’s side.

He urges Nicky forward.

His own body is still a bright spot of pain, lighting him up from nearly every side, his arm an especially uncomfortable sensation as it finishes the lengthy process of knitting back together. It aches. It itches. But he will heal.

He says nothing as Nicky moves closer, hovering protectively.

Only when they reach the fence, Andy and Nile approaching in the distance and Nicky still stone-faced and looming, does he reach out to touch, to try to bring him back.

_I will not let you go._

“Nicolo,” he says. “I am fine. I will heal.”

Nicky says nothing, only stares.

These things take time.

Joe reminds himself of that reality, soothes himself with the knowledge that Nicky is here, has come back to him before and will again. Will do so faster the farther they are from this place and its memories, the more Joe can remind him that life continues on.

That they can do some good.

Nile watches them curiously in the car, no doubt taking in Nicky’s silence and the death grip he has on Joe’s wrist. He has no idea how much she’s seen, how much she’s put together. Judging by the careful, wordless way she took the front seat, her continued silence as Andy drives them further away, she has seen _enough._

Nicky’s hand tightens and Joe glances over, is only slightly disappointed to see Nicky still staring blankly out the window. He flexes beneath the hold and watches as some of the tension in Nicky’s shoulders disappears.

Getting closer, then.

He reaches over and ignores Nicky’s flinch, pulls his hood up and tucks him into a soft, familiar bubble. Joe wishes he could tuck him into his arms instead. Knows Nicky isn’t ready. But he will be, soon, Joe is determined of that.

“There is no sin to forgive, my heart,” he says.

A promise. Because he will never ask for an apology for this, for the anger Nicky feels out of love, for the death he brings when his heart breaks open in righteous fury.

He is an angel of death and destruction, but an angel nonetheless, overflowing with grace and purpose even when consumed by violence.

But Nicky doesn’t see it, much like Andy was blind to her own goodness, her place in the world, for so many years.

Eventually, the sharp line of Nicky’s shoulders finally eases. His fingers twitch and loosen around Joe’s wrist, thumb rubbing absently over the pulse. Joe settles himself against Nicky’s side, exhaustion pulling at him as he nuzzles into his lover’s shoulder. They’ll be okay.

Nicky pulls him closer, hand unsure when it first brushes over Joe’s curls, matted as they are with blood. Then, they find a rhythm. Joe shuts his eyes and leans into it easily, drinking in every bit of warmth between them, every place where they touch.

He aches for Nicky, every second of every day, but it is never worse than days like this, when Nicky is close but still feels so far away, when his own blood is still a stark reminder between them, a barrier they’re both eager to erase.

Nicky tenses suddenly and Joe’s eyes flutter open, searching in the dark before settling on Nile’s face between the seats in front. Her hand is on Nicky’s knee and Nicky is vibrating with it, with the need to push it away. _He is unclean._ (He is _not._ ) But Nile stays, doesn’t back down, and Joe is filled with a quiet thanks and admiration. He will love tenfold anyone who knows and loves Nicky so well.

Then, she touches Joe.

Her fingers brush right below Nicky’s on his wrist and Nicky is taut as a bowstring, face still hidden in his hood and Joe’s hair. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to pull away or push her back.

Nile’s eyes watch them carefully, meet Joe’s with a silent question that he does his best to answer without words. _It will take time._

 _They’ll be okay_.

Her eyes hold more questions than just that.

For now, Joe decides not to answer. Nile turns around and settles into sleep. The car descends into a deeper silence and Joe stares out the windshield, Andy and Nicky in his peripherals as his eyes begin to droop. Healing is always exhausting. As is coming back to life.

The horrors of the day begin to creep back into his mind-- the pain of the blade, the bullets, the blood on the ground. Knowing what was coming but being unable to stop it. Being _alone._

His free hand tangles in the hem of Nicky’s hoodie. He is here. They are together.

Somehow, sleep finds him.

\--

He wakes an unknown amount of time later, the world still dark but light already peeking in at the edges, sun pushing at the horizon. The car is stopped. Nile and Andy are absent from the front seat, Nicky crouching in the door with one hand on Joe’s shoulder to coax him awake.

Joe groans with it, nearly forgets for a moment _why_ he is so tired before it comes crashing back. His eyes close against the memory, body curling inward, around his arm, before he breaks free enough to straighten again.

Nicky doesn’t speak, just offers him a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

 _Come inside,_ it says. _I will help you._

Joe shakes his head. “I am fine, Nicolo.” He nudges him gently out of the way and stands on his own two feet, shutting the door and taking Nicky’s face in his hands. “I would have you worry about a warm shower and a soft bed, the rest can come later.”

A hand comes up to curl around his wrist, warm and sure.

They go inside. They shower. Blood and gore wash down the drain and some of the life returns to both of their eyes— being clean always goes a long way in feeling human. Nile and Andy watch quietly from the sidelines.

Just before they disappear into their room, Andy catches his eye. He nods. They’ll be okay.

Nicky still hasn’t said a word. He mostly likely won’t, not until tomorrow, and maybe not even then. It is never something Joe particularly enjoys, the lack of Nicky’s voice, but he understands its purpose.

They lay down and Nicky pulls him closer, holds tightly to the arm across his chest.

“It is over,” Joe says quietly, pressing a kiss to the smooth skin at the base of Nicky’s neck. They both smell of soap and the citrus shampoo Nile favors. “You must sleep, Nicolo.”

Fingers twitch against his forearm. There is a gun beside them in bed, Nicky’s sword propped up by the end table.

It is hours before he wakes again, the room filled with filtered light and his body warm where the sun has come in to touch their skin. Nicky is still lax with sleep and Joe keeps carefully still so as not to wake him.

His Nicky, his Nicolo. The beautiful, wrathful man who owns his soul. And Joe knows every part of him.

He knows that Nicky is full of kindness, of gentleness and compassion. He knows that, buried deep under that seemingly endless well of goodness, lies something dark and violent in its fury.

Joe has known this from the very beginning.

He had seen Nicolo many times after their first death, had seen his love, his compassion, his need to help everyone around him from the servants bringing water to his fellow crusaders. Nicolo has _always_ been kind.

But there has always been a great capacity for cruelty as well, something Joe experienced firsthand with a sword in his gut, a knife across his throat, hands that gripped his neck and didn’t let go until his eyes went dark.

It is no secret, not from him.

He knows intimately how, lost to darkness, Nicky is overwhelming in his violence, beautiful in the same terrifying way of tsunamis and raging storms, awe inspiring as they tear apart all that lies in their path.

Joe knows of Nicky’s darkness—and loves him all the more for it.

What value is there in goodness that comes from complete lack of sin? How horrible would life be if filled with nothing but happiness— no sorrow or pain, no anger or fear?

Nicky is beautiful because he is full of all of those things, full of an anger that threatens to rip apart his very soul, and yet he _chooses_ to be kind.

His gentleness is deliberate, flowing from a well of compassion that runs deeper than even that terrible darkness can reach. Even now, when it consumes him, it is only because of his worry for others. His worry for Joe.

The desire to _protect._

But Nicky doesn’t see those things. Sees only the blood on his hands and the guilt in his heart and drowns in both, hopelessly lost and unable to see the light that shines from within his own soul. It has been over nine hundred years and Joe is still trying to show him.

Joe leans forward and kisses his shoulder, the nape of his neck, lets his mouth drag and linger against each patch of skin. Nicky twitches, his body stretches out against the sheets, pushing himself closer into Joe’s chest.

“Good morning,” Joe says, pressing another kiss to the top of Nicky’s spine.

Nicky bares his throat, _good morning,_ then shudders when Joe drags his lips there.

“It is a new day,” Joe says. Already he feels lighter. His own body is healed and well, Nicky’s the picture of perfection against him. “What will we do with it?”

Nicky rolls over enough to stare at Joe, eyes considering, then he settles back down on the bed. His mouth is tilted into the smallest of smiles but to Joe it means everything.

He lets out a laugh, presses a hand to Nicky’s chest. “I’m sure neither Andy or Nile will begrudge us a slow morning.”

They settle back into the sheets, into each other, and the birds chirp outside their window, unaware of the moment that has just transpired.

Joe looks at the strong slope of Nicky’s shoulders, the cut of his jaw, the softness of his face as they lay here together, and he knows that they are lucky.

Fate is a sea, wide and vast and unstoppable, always in storm, their lives set adrift in its waters. They are tossed from one century to the next, spanning lifetimes, constantly being broken and made new.

Humanity fears the unstoppable, the insurmountable…the inevitable.

Immortality erases many of those fears. Their own lives have become relentless— unimaginable in their breadth, towering higher than the tallest mountain, deeper than the darkest sea.

But Joe still knows that last fear very well, knows not even they can escape the inevitable truth that governs all life…

_Death._

The immovable rock at the end of their path. And as unstoppable as fate and their immortality have made them, they will one day be dashed apart on its surface. Nothing is ever _truly_ unstoppable.

And that is why so many things have lost their sting. Storms rage and the sea swells and Joe surrenders himself to it. He’s learned to release himself to fate’s pull, to satisfy himself with its whims and the knowledge that nothing is as unstoppable as it seems.

All storms will end.

All seas will quiet.

Just as Nicky, now, lies calm and pliant in his arms, warmed with sunlight and full of the same deep, overflowing kindness that Joe has known every day for the last many centuries. Nothing is truly unstoppable. Nothing is ever as terrifying as it first seems.

He kisses Nicky lightly on the curve of his ear.

“I love you, Nicolo.”

Nicky hums softly in reply, tilts his head to meet Joe’s lips, warm and soft and perfect.

 _T_ _here are three things all wise_ _men_ _fear…_

Joe huffs into the kiss, supposes he isn’t a very wise man after all.

And as Nicky arches beneath him, reaches for Joe at the same time Joe reaches for him, he decides he doesn’t want to be.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art Masterpost for: What Wise Men Fear by itsmylifekay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28527831) by [velociraptorerin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/velociraptorerin/pseuds/velociraptorerin)




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